


Shoreditch Soliloquy

by bradypnoea



Series: Composition Compilation [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, It'll Make More Sense If You Read Part 1 But I'm Not The Fanfic Police, New Relationship, Now With Even Less Plot, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Slice of Life, There Are Some Cute Moments I Guess, This Didn't Need To Be Written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6084039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bradypnoea/pseuds/bradypnoea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom spent the last three months as Marvel's circus bear, the last three weeks pretending his friend of ten years wouldn't call him on his shit, and the last three hours trying (and failing) not to fight with her. At the end of a particularly trying day, things are starting to look up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoreditch Soliloquy

**Author's Note:**

> I was genuinely 300 words away from posting a one-shot yesterday featuring a woman named Samirah before I happened upon a set of The Night Manager gifs because that's how life works. Enjoy these two continuing to waste your time while I find another name.
> 
> Also, I gave Tom's POV a shot even though I know he's too fucking smart for me to write well; it's not the best but it's better than the worst.
> 
> 1: (varies regionally) GA-rin-een/ga-rin-EE-un/GAR-nyeen | granddaughter

I’ve got ahold of his hand by the time we hit the pavement, his dress shoes _clack_ ing alongside the _click_ ing of mine. I’m sure I should be cold right now—I can see my breath—but all I feel is a bubbling happiness, the pleasant sense that everything is better than it could have been. My feet trace a bendy path as we continue down the street, I can hear him laughing at me...

 

* * *

 

She’s got my hand in a firm grip as we escape the building, practically skipping alongside me. Soft clicking draws my attention and I feel warmth bloom in my chest at the sight of the bracelets on her wrist, dim though they are in the shadow between us. I see cloud of vapour rise, an emanation of a chuckle at my own sentimentality, also a subtle reminder that it’s _cold as hell out here_. Ray seems perfectly content to meander the pavement now, while I distinctly remember her protesting the low temperature earlier. If I’m being honest, I would prefer to avoid attending to a case of mild hypothermia when we get inside, as there are other things I’d rather attend to.

“Were we going to _walk_ back to yours?” I assess her determination.

“You know I hadn’t planned to but I’ve had this _mysterious_ burst of energy, and I’d rather burn it off now than be restless later.” She cracks a sly smile. _Restless_ , right.

“As though you’ve ever had trouble falling asleep.”

Her mouth drops open.

“It was _Angel Heart_! I sat through _Mean Streets_ , _Goodfellas_ , and even _Frankenstein,_ on that terrible 24 inch, all quite diligently I might add, and you’re still disgruntled because I fell asleep during _Angel Heart_?”

“You missed the best part! You could have said you were tired, I would have paused it!”

The best part was actually that she truly had _fallen_ , off the weathered sofa onto the cold floor, where she continued to sleep soundly through the night, curled inside the duvet she had only just bought for my birthday.

“Honestly why even bother with me, just go date Robert DeNiro.”

“He prefers to be called Bob, anyway.”

“So help me Thomas.” She stops, one pointing finger following me before I realise she has no intention of moving. I see her fight a smile when I lean in to place a quick kiss on said fingertip, trying to be steadfast in her threatening stare.

“Darling you must know I only have eyes for you.” She squints in thorough disbelief. “At least until his publicist returns my calls.”

“Well aren’t I the luckiest girl at the ball,” she chuckles and sidesteps me, continuing backwards down the street with a cavalier sashay. “Wouldn’t that be a story?” In a flash of excitement her hands fly up to frame a headline in the air, “‘My Boyfriend Left Me For Robert DeNiro’, I can hear the Daily Mail calling already.”

A wonderful tingle feathers up my spine and down through my arms. I’m rooted in my spot, a smile spreading wide across my warm face as I embrace the significance of her words. “Can you, I’m sorry, could you say that again for me, that last part?"  
  
“The Daily Mail? Oh!” She gasps, tilting her head. Both hands come to rest gently over her heart, she begins a slow return in my direction. “The part in which I referred to you as my _boyfriend_ ? _Mi novio_?” Her gaze is fixed on her feet as she steps close— “ _Il mio fidanzato_.”—and looks to me with eyelashes fluttering in the guise of timidity when she stops just before the tips of her shoes touch mine. “ _Mon petit ami_?”

We regard one another for a long moment before I roll my eyes, “I’m not sure which of us is more satisfied with themselves.” She breaks character with an endearing grin as I gather her roughly into me.

“That’s what _a ghrá geal_ means, since you asked. Boyfriend. Though literally it translates to ‘my bright love’, which I prefer.”

“Have I heard it before? It sounds familiar.”

“You might have heard it from me, if I’m honest you’re not the first person I’ve said it to.”

I push back, affecting true, agonizing pain, “I think I may be deeply wounded.”  
  
“Really,” she scoffs, “you _really_ want to be the one to draw the lines on terms of endearment? _Darling_?”

“...yeah okay that’s fair.”

She bursts into laughter before I can pull her back in and instead grabs my hand to resume our journey.

“That was almost too easy.”

“Hm?” I glance over and see her struggling to verbalise her thought.

“I find myself ..wondering what our first real fight is going to be over.”

I feel my entire face screw up. “Did we not just have a spectacularly massive row?”

“Well you're not wrong, that was a good one, to me it borders on the platonic, just temporally speaking.” I don’t agree, but I’d rather our ‘first real fight’ not center on how valid our previous fights may or may not have been. “We’ve had worse, like after Alex smashed into your car, or when I turned down that promotion and you insisted I was being, and I quote, ‘foolish and ungrateful’?”

“Ooh and here I hoped you’d forgotten that one.”

Some three years ago now Ray had been up for a high level directing position within her company and it looked fantastic at every angle; it would have come with a significant increase in her salary, an expense account, and if she so chose— a personal assistant. It would have also sent her to Burbank, California. At the time I had recently become quite enamoured with California and its sun-soaked offerings, and when she let slip the news of such an amazing opportunity I was near offended she had done so with an air of despondency. She was going to let someone else have it, which she was obviously unhappy about, but she insisted, and there was no excuse she could offer that seemed a decent justification to me. I made my feelings known rather emphatically, she threw her hands up, turned and walked away.

She called me two nearly months later from an Ireland number, asking if I had a moment to spare.

I had met her grandmother only a handful of times, yet within the few short minutes we spoke she had forgiven my Scottish heritage and apologised for her _gariníon_ 1—the girl could be a bit daft, and I had sunk pathetically down to my kitchen floor as I assured her looking after Ríoghnach was no trouble at all and that I would do my level best to keep her out of harm’s way. When the phone was passed back, apparently she ‘couldn’t work the damn thing if y’paid me’, I could hear Ray suppressing her own tears behind a smile, and she promised that she would see me as soon as she got back.

 

“My point is, you and I are capable of hours-long, high calibre disagreements, but I don’t think we’ve yet achieved full knock-down-drag-out-insult-your mother’s-cooking-level arguments I have admittedly participated in.”

“Are you planning to insult my mother’s cooking?”

“God no!” She cries, “who else could send me colcannon soup when I feel sick?”’

“Wait hang on, excuse me, I know I’ve made it for you at least once. You liked it!” I’ll be the first to admit I’m no culinary virtuoso, but when I put my mind to something I like to think I spare no effort! Not to mention the voracious appetite with which my efforts were met!

“ _It’s not the same_ ,” came a plaintive whine.

“It’s exactly the same, it is literally her recipe!”

There’s a sharp yank at my shoulder as she pulls me to a stop. “Do you want to fight about it?” She challenges with her arms crossed. I can’t stifle the laugh that escapes me when a decidedly more effective plan comes to mind.  
  
“Yes, I do!” I take her face in hand and touch my lips so lightly to hers she takes the smallest gasp, inviting a deeper, more thorough kiss which I am all too keen to provide. Eventually curiosity gets the better of me when I don’t feel her move into me, or at all, I pull back to find her arms still stubbornly tucked tight to her chest.

“That wasn’t much of a fight,” she murmurs, a warm exhale that ghosts across my jaw.

I seal my argument with a final peck, “I’ll work on it.” She smiles. “I’m sorry, this is a great time, but can I get a cab now? It’s fucking cold.”

“Oh!” Her eyes open wide, as though the very idea of _cold_ hadn’t existed till just this very second. “Yeah, God, I’m sorry!” She steps away.

Job done—thankfully we’d only have a short wait as drivers were still active shuttling the younger crowd from the clubs in town—I pocketed my phone. It took me a few seconds to find her again, she had slipped behind me to huddle into the shadowed corner of a nearby doorway.

“Well I’m cold now!” She laughs. I move to join her, laughing myself, and wrap my arms high around her shoulders.

The chill of her skin quickly melts away as I smooth jagged shivers down her back. Feeling her arms snake into my coat again is the assurance I need to relax into her, close my eyes and gather myself. Our heated conversation earlier seems now to have gone so fast and hadn’t concluded so much as fizzled to embers. And between our hurried exit from the party and our _thoroughly_ improved hallway encounter, there hadn’t been a proper opportunity to take stock of the evening. I knew we were headed back to hers for the express purpose of sorting this very issue, yet in the blessed quiet of the deserted night I couldn’t contain the question on my mind, “How did we get here?”

She doesn’t miss a beat, “Well we went left out of Jamie’s then—” _the little shit._

“Oh _ha_ _ha_! I had nearly forgotten how hilarious you were!”

“It’s a gift!” She presses a loud kiss to the side of my neck.

“You know what I mean; how are you and I only now arriving at this point? Why did it take us so long?”  
  
“I know, it’s so terribly cliché.”

“Is it?”  
  
“Two people who suddenly realised they were perfect for each other before it was too late? _Please_. It’s just a shame I wasn’t about to board a plane to Australia or something, you could have sprinted dramatically through Heathrow.”

“I’m free all day tomorrow if you’d like to try again.”

I hear her quiet laugh, her head turns to rest on my right shoulder for a view of the dark street, allowing me to catch the faintest edge of perfume lingering on her hair.There’s nothing of particular interest to be seen on either side of us so I can’t be sure what caught her attention. I feel the pressure of her nails begin at the top of my spine, a gentle scratch easing to the edge of my belt and back up.

 

“You were never an option, really; I wasn’t exactly pining away. I _will_ admit that I may have accidentally established you as the gold standard. More than once I have found myself at a shady pub with an over-friendly sleazebag wishing he were half as wonderful as you. But actually dating you wasn’t something I bothered to consider. You always seemed to be running in a different race.”

“Oh no, please don’t start on how I could have any woman I want and how they’re so much more beautiful than you—”

She jerks back, glaring like that was somehow the most upsetting thing I’ve said tonight. “I hadn’t fucking planned on it! I know I’m no Bob DeNiro but I could hold my own against some of them!”

“ _All_ of them.” I level with an earnest stare honed from every iteration of this argument I’ve endured.

“Oi don’t stand there pretending like there’s not still a Freebie List sitting in your phone right now, _Salma Hayek_.” Her fingers press hard into my sides.

Well.

“ _All but five_ of them,” I concede. I really should know better. She laughs it off with a pat on my back.

“It was always a bit surprising when you came home alone,” she says with a shrug, leaning her head back on the stone wall. “I half expected you to introduce me to some magnificent Spanish woman called Carmelita before announcing you’re going to sell all of your possessions and spend the rest of your days with her drinking _rosé Txakoli_ and performing Shakespeare in Basque.” (As an aside, while I have nothing but enthusiastic recommendations for the wine, Basque is a wholly different animal.)

“Carmelita, really?”  
  
“I don’t know!” She barely gets out through her giggling. “Your name wasn’t entered in the ‘Possible Suitors’ drawing! You were in those platonic categories like ‘Get Smashed On A Thursday Night’, ‘How Hard Could Moving A Sofa Be’, and ‘What In Bloody Hell Is This Philosopher On About’, seated firmly at the top of most, mind you!”

On one occasion we had actually gotten smashed _and_ tried to move a sofa on the same Thursday night.

“Then you got busy being an Actor and I missed you so ridiculously much,” her eyes shy away from mine, “I remembered you were also top in ‘Laughs At My Deplorable Jokes’ and ‘Reminds Me I’m Not Absolute Shit’ and ‘Always Wanted The Best For Me, Even When I Am Absolute Shit’, because I had forgotten. At the time however you were resolutely ignoring me so obviously I had to ignore you right back.” The mention of my idiocy makes me wince.

“I realised in the midst of my petulance that you’ve seen the worst parts of me and yet you haven’t run screaming. Only two other people have blessed me with such freedom, one of them shares my gene pool and the other threw me a surprise party. She looks up, apprehension painted on her face, “I couldn’t bring myself to be that vulnerable, you know? To come off so desperate, and certainly not over a text message.”

Facing the literal consequences my fear had wrought, I can hardly believe that I ever thought the wisest course of action was indefinite separation from someone I can’t imagine life without, that I had the blind audacity to think it would hurt me more than it ever would her. What a twat.

 

“Cab’s here,” she whispers and it sounds like the sweetest forgiveness. I kiss her forehead as she extricates her arms then draws me to the kerb. The car pulls to a stop, she kindly gives her address and climbs in after me. I’ve barely sat down when the full weight of fatigue settles onto me. Ray must have noticed, before I know it she’s got her arm easing my head down to her shoulder, fingers running through my hair so pleasantly my eyes slip closed. I find her free hand in mine and bring it to my lap.

“How long have you been going today?”

“That is a great question.”

Her shoulder shakes as she laughs, “Why am I not surprised?”

“You wore me out.”

“Sure, it was me, all my fault.”

I smile. “Hey you said it.”

“All right relax. Just stay down for a minute, I’ll let you know when we get home.”

“It’s a barely a twenty minute drive it’s not like I’m about to fall asleep.”

 

I’m startled awake apparently twenty minutes later by the sound of our driver laughing. “Did a number on him, did you?”

“Oh no,” she replies. “No, he does that all on his own!”

I straighten out, only somewhat bleary, to see her face bright with a tired smile. She moves across the seat to get out, and before I can thank the man for driving he says I ‘better take care of that girl’ and I stop to wonder exactly which divine being I pissed off. He and Ray share a curiously warm wave as he drives into the night.

“He said I reminded him of his daughter.” She nudges my shoulder, smirking.

“Of course you did.”

“Don’t be grumpy because he liked me better!”

I hang my head and look up at her with sad eyes and a dejected frown. "I can't possibly compete with perfection.” The smirking continues.

“That would have been much more charming if you didn’t look like Mossop.” Her hand reaches up in an attempt to subdue the mess she’s made of my hair, which lasts all of five seconds. “You know I’m truly sorry sir, we’ve done all we can, but it looks like we’ll have to amputate.” She pats my shoulder and starts walking toward toward her door.

"If you don't mind, I'd like a second opinion," I call after her.

She shouts over her shoulder, "All right. You're ugly too!" Classic _._

“Isn’t your birthday over yet?” I shift it up the walk.

She looks back, turning the key as I reach the stairs. “I know you haven’t forgotten the rules, I still have about four hours.” The door swings open and she waves me inside, “Hopefully you’ll be asleep by then.”

 

A blend of ginger and warm vanilla fills the air as soon as I step in. It immediately brings the most pleasant memories to mind and I can’t hide the smile that accompanies them. “It smells fantastic in here.”

“Interesting. I don’t think I’ve done anything.” She haphazardly looks around from her seat on the staircase, where she’s pulling her shoes off and flexing her toes. “Might just be you, absence and fondness and all that.” I shrug my coat off and hang it on the nearby hooks.

She motions for me to follow her upstairs. “Now I’m going to find you something to sleep in other than _the nude_ ,” we stop in front of her Ikea wardrobe, she opens the large section with a pointed look in my direction. “During which time you are going to rummage through this lad here—” she shakes a large, vivid green bin that looks to be full with what a reasonable person might call junk, “—to find a toothbrush suited to your tastes.”

She disappears before I can say otherwise, leaving me to hunch over and dig through a jumble of cheap, yet fully packaged brushes, flossers and tongue scrapers. I’m a bit unnerved by this stockpile; I’ve known her to collect a few odds and ends from time to time, as we all do, but this.. this is weird.

“Okay what’s with the dragon hoard?” I call out in the direction of her room.

“Tom I have had gentleman callers nearly every week since your departure, do you expect me to provide them with less than comprehensive hospitality?” Her voice resonates down the hall. Before I can catch myself I’ve started backtracking to recall the exact date I left and what day is it now and how many days has it been since I’d seen her last and oh God how many weeks is that?

“Mate, my mum gave ‘em to me,” I’ve got two tightly clenched fistfuls of toothbrushes and nearly jump out of my skin when her head pops around the door. “She was working on some sort of ..dental related installation and apparently overestimated her supply needs. But your barely restrained panic is very flattering.”

“I’m not sure if I was jealous or scandalised!” 

“Jealous, obviously.” She nods at my hands, “You using all of those tonight? I mean you’ve got a big mouth but—”

“Oh! No,” I toss the stash back into the bin, save one. “I’m sure this will suffice, thank you very much.”

“If you say so. There are clothes on the bed whenever you want to change. I’m going to reheat some orange chicken I’ve got in the fridge and of course you are free to eat, you know, everything in sight.”

I feel uneasy in the silence she leaves behind, though I happily watch as she scuttles downstairs in a pair of striped pyjama bottoms. I’m concerned at my reaction to the possibility of _other men_ being here with her, which was borderline childish. This thin line between platonic and romantic affection is one I haven’t had a reason to walk for many years, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to do so with any poise.

 

She’s rearranged the furniture in her bedroom since I’ve last seen it. I smile at the sight of her faithful duvet, colourful as ever, presiding over the room, contrasting the darkness of the joggers she’s laid upon it that look—and feel—suspiciously similar to a pair that should be tucked safely into a drawer in my own bedroom. The shirt selection is far more foreign; I’ve never seen any of these before and they’re seemingly sized to be worn by an astronaut in full space kit. At least they’re V-necked? No, I’m sorry, can’t do it. I toss one to the floor and walk to the chest of drawers. T-shirts: right hand side, second one down, _would you look at that_.

Loud beeping from the microwave stops me just as I’m about to head back down to the kitchen. It is only now that am I able to identify this moment as a precursor to what might be the basis of our entire experience as a couple. Okay steady, that may have been a bit much even for me. Right; Ríoghnach knows everything. She knows everything about me. I know everything about her. There’s nothing to prove. There’s nothing to worry over, she knows everything and she’s still my friend. It’s an unblemished record, a clean slate. She doesn’t need to be impressed or amazed or won over. The only thing she needs to be assured of is my commitment to her happiness. She’s probably a bit worried that I might turn tail and leave again, all I truly need to do in _this_ moment is let her know that my intention to be with her is not a fleeting interest to indulge in. She’s my friend. She’s a woman. She’s human. She wants to feel loved. I can do that. I can absolutely do that.

I step downstairs quietly and find her leaning against the bench with plate in hand, not eating so much as idly pushing around bits of chicken. She doesn’t immediately notice I’ve come in, only looking up when something in my knee lets out an emphatic _snap_.

“God was that you? You’re falling apart!” I merely smile and continue over to lean beside her.

“Any good?”

“I think it’s cracking but then I made it myself so I might be biased.” She drops her fork on the plate and passes over the lot, “You want some?” I take hold of the plate, look at her and slowly set it aside, feeling incredibly clever. She understands my intention when I shift closer into her personal space, placing my hand atop hers as it rests on the worktop. I feel her flinch ever so slightly but she keeps her eyes open as I move very close.

I look down, purposefully lingering a moment on her lips before meeting her eyes, “May I?”

The corner of her mouth quirks up as she glances down to mine. “You might as well.”

I will say in the time I’ve known her, the quality of Ray’s culinary endeavours have risen from weakness to prowess, and the taste of her beneath what I already knew would be another delicious recipe is nothing short of exquisite. She’s just gifting me with the barest touch of her tongue when I pull away, looking upward and pursing my lips in consideration. 

“Sweet _and_ sour.”

She giggles, “Oh go on,” batting me in the stomach. I wink at her and turn around to pop a piece of chicken into my mouth. “I like your shirt, by the way. I didn’t think you’d fit into any of those, what with your movie star physique.” She reaches past me to grab her food.

I look down to admire my good taste, the word ‘CREW’ printed just on the left breast in a familiar shade of blue standing out on an otherwise solid, though faded, black t-shirt. An artifact of a bygone era when she would assist on the sound equipment for live productions, and tonight almost ironically an emblem of our humble beginnings. But of course I have to go and make a joke about it. “Well this was a better fit than the _tents_ you had laid out on the bed. Whose physique were you expecting, Chris Hemsworth?”

I’m halfway to inspecting her fridge when she laughs. “They’re called _sleep shirts_ you dick, why, is he available?” 

“Oh well I see how it is! One short bout of absence and you go running into the impossibly overdeveloped arms of that ..witless oaf?”

“ _Calm down_ my liege, there’s something in the fridge that may assuage this heinous humiliation I’ve so callously inflicted upon you.” I scoff as I pull open the door.

“I certainly don’t think there could possibly be anything in here which might ply—” the words die on my tongue when I see the most gorgeous of chocolate cakes in its own special box waiting ever so patiently for someone to save it from such cold isolation.

“Yeah?”  
  
“I doubted you and for that I am unreservedly sorry.”

“I thought as much. Bring it here then.”

“Oh no, we shouldn’t,” I say though I have yet to tear my eyes from it. “We should save it for tomorrow, when we can devote to it our full, unwavering attention.”

“You’re not going to tell me when I should and should not eat my birthday cake.” I turn back, still holding the door open, my mother would be ashamed.

“This is birthday cake? Did you buy your own birthday cake?”  
  
“Did _you_ buy me a birthday cake?”

“Good point.” I look again and grab a container of blueberries. “What about these? This is a much better choice, a good healthy snack before bed.”

“I guess,” she shrugs, turning to the sink to rinse her plate. “I was planning to make waffles with them tomorrow but if you want to eat them now,” the fridge seems to shut under its own volition. Suddenly I feel very tired.

 

“All right well I think it’s time for bed. Come on, come on, that can wait!” She’s laughing as I hold her waist and guide her back from the sink, and she flicks water on my face before I can wrap her hands in the dishtowel. “We can’t have brekkers if we don’t go night night so let’s go, come on!”

She manages to switch the lights out while I’m steering her out of the kitchen, through the foyer, and up the stairs where I give her a quick pat on the arse for good measure.

“Easy!”

I chuckle, and nearly run flat into her back when she stops short in the hall. My smile slips away as she turns around with a serious expression. She takes hold of my hands, which is a reassuring gesture considering she can’t seem to decide on a safe place to look. Shit, not even a day into this relationship and already I’ve ruined it.

“I think we may have had this conversation before,” she starts, looking very unsure of herself. “Perhaps a few times, but maybe with different implications, so I just want to be as clear as possible since we’re still sort of finding our way through this amorphous romantic nebula. And I’m not trying to come across hypercritical and overbearing, though Lord knows it’s what I do best."

I stay quiet.

“I feel very inferior and... subordinate when someone laughs at my objection to something, particularly when ‘something’ involves touching me. I know you were being playful and while it was cute, it just brought back some unpleasant memories. I don’t mean to hold you responsible for someone else’s mistakes, but it’s something I feel very strongly about and I need to know that you’ll take my disagreement into consideration, and that my perspective matters, even if you just want to feel my ass. Like, _especially_ when you want to feel my ass.”

I have to tamp down the instinct to make some snarky rebuttal that she was unfairly overstating a harmless gesture; it would have proved I hadn’t listened to a single word she said.

Honestly I don’t think it’s something I had bothered to consider, though that may be because I’ve never encountered it in this context. Though we hadn’t made a good showing of it tonight, Ray and I can really go on for hours, debating one issue after another with no shortage of piss-taking, and still call it a civilised discussion. As in my previous experience it’s taken a bit of effort and _malice aforethought_ if you will, to hurt her feelings, this simple entreaty gives me pause.

Sure I can see how my laughter may seem a brusque dismissal of her request not to, well, feel her ass. Being brushed off is not a pleasant experience, as I’m well aware. I’ve been called a know-all more than once in my life and I’m well acquainted to the vigour with which some people react against those (see also: me) who might challenge their mistakes and misconceptions. But I’m also a bit too familiar with the uneasy feeling of someone disregarding personal boundaries.

Only when I see the depth of trepidation in her eyes does it occur to me that she’s not telling me this as a friend. Her head is brimful with the worry that I might fail in this as I can assume others have before me. She’s asking for a confirmation of my respect as her partner and with such hesitancy that it breaks my heart she feels the need.

“Come here please.” I pull her in and wrap her up as best I can. “I am so sorry.” Her fingers splay across my back as her arms tighten and when I feel her head rest on my shoulder I move my hand to gently rub her neck. She lets out what I’d like to believe is a happy sigh.

“I’m not saying you can’t _ever_ touch my ass.” I feel her laugh shake through me.

“That’s a relief!”

We stand there for a minute more until she pulls back and meets my eyes, “Okay come on, teeth brushing.”

 

Ray’s midway through the process before I manage to break free the new brush from behind its ridiculous packaging. It takes me a few seconds to notice she’s pushing what looks to be a stick around in her mouth.

“Does your toothbrush have a wood grain?”

“Yeah it’s bamboo. Compostable. Earth friendly and the like,” she enunciates around the foam. I think of my own high-powered, rechargeable, self-timing toothbrush at home, which I would really rather be using right now. It’s not as though she can’t afford it and I know for a fact she used to own one. I must have made a face because she starts to laugh, spitting and rinsing her bamboo stick before pointing it at me.

“As I’m not under any obligation to have my teeth captured on high definition film every other day like some people I could mention, I’m not compelled to keep up with the latest advances in dental technology. It does the job just fine!” She grabs something out of a drawer and leans against the vanity, using whatever it was to fuss about her fingernails, turning her hands this way and that.

“Were you waiting for me?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t lose focus, “I need a wee, mate.”

“Oh did you want me to leave?”

Her head turns only slightly to show a distinct challenge in her eyes. “Is this really the bluff you want to call?”

I spit into the sink and grin. “Do you think I don’t remember Andalucía? Glastonbury? You want to pretend like you haven’t pissed behind the nearest hedge?”

“Ooh I love when you get all posh with me.” I give her a big wink and rinse my brush.

“There’s a thing of face wash in that drawer if you want. Smells like grapefruit though, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” She calls. I make a point not to look up, but there’s a privacy wall separating the actual toilet anyway; I can’t _see_ her, it’s not _that_ weird.. right? I’m tired.

 

“Is it supposed to tingle?” Something I should have asked before I put it on my entire face.

“Yeah,” she laughs “it’s stimulating your skin, or something. Pass it.”

She’s rinsing her face as I finish drying mine and hold the towel out for her. I step back to rest on the doorjamb while she layers on two separate creams, making awful faces at me in the mirror. I want to pretend like this isn’t wonderful. That it can’t possibly be this efficient for the two of us to transition from friends to partners. That somehow I hadn't been living that ‘couldn’t see what I had in front of me’ shit.

“Shit!” Her hands come away from her face as she turns around, eyes wide like she’s just seen a murder.

“What?”

“I don’t have any contact solution for you!”

I have to laugh. She’s still got lotion smeared across her forehead and she’s worrying about my contacts.

“I didn’t even think about it! I have no idea what’s open right now. I could call Jamie, I think she would have some, I know she’s got a few extra cases.”

“Ray it’s alright! It's okay, steady.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah! I’ve got those really great ones I can wear for days. Also I’ve got a spare set in my coat pocket if it comes to that. I’ll be fine, I promise won’t wake up blind tomorrow.”

“Well if you say it like _that_ it’s definitely going to happen.”

“I will publicly take responsibility for my vision choices in front of any angry publicists that might come after you. Come on Simba, there are waffles waiting for us in the morning.” She finishes with one last cream for her hands and bumps me out the door toward the bedroom.

 

“You didn’t have to throw them on the floor!” She’s bent over picking up that ridiculous sleep shirt before I can get to it, so I grab the rest from the bed and try to look sorry as she takes them to her closet. She closes the door and turns back to me, takes maybe five steps, stops and crosses her arms. I cross mine in response, leant on the edge of the bed. The smirk on her face doesn’t tell me much.

“What.”

She takes a deep breath in, shrugs, and lets it out, “I just wanted to look at you.” I see her jaw clench, her mouth twitch. She tries to play it off by rolling her eyes but there’s an endearing tremor in her voice. “I missed you.”

I sit down proper, extending my arms for her. Hers stay tucked in but she walks over so I can hold her. She doesn’t want me to see her cry again, and I’ll let her have this, it is technically still her birthday. “I missed you too, _a ghrá geal_ , I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

There’s a moment of sniffling and chuckling against my shoulder before she shifts back and unfolds her arms to rest her fingers on either side of my face. I smile at her, my beautiful, stubborn idiot, and she smiles back.

“I feel at a disadvantage,” she says, “I’m down a few points in displays of affection.”

“Shit, have you been keeping score?”

She grins and leans in just close enough to barely feel the softness of her lips then pulls away, teasing me to follow. It takes a second to click, but the soft sound of laughter makes my eyes pop open. I gasp, “You stole my move! That’s my special move! You used my own move on me!” Her hands are squishing my cheeks now.

“You’re not exactly subtle about it!” She tries to whisper, “And I will admit it’s pretty fun.” I shake my head, wounded. “Come on, we’ve got waffles waiting. Why didn’t you get in bed before?”

“It didn’t feel right without you.” I put my heart into the most effective pout I can manage, shameless puppy dog eyes and all.

Her hands move to her heart. “Aw, that’s adorable. Get under the damn covers.” I oblige but only after making a show of it. She gets one knee on the bed and stops, “Wait where’s your phone?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not expected anywhere tomorrow.”

“You say that now, but who’s going to be in trouble when you’re not at home? Where is it?”

Being that I legitimately can’t remember what I did with it, “Where’s _your_ phone?”

“Charging right next to you. Actually—” she reaches to the nightstand to press the home button. “Okay Google,” her phone dings, “call _Ass Appleston_.”

My mouth drops open. “Technologically inferior _and_ mean!”The vibration of my beloved iPhone betrays its location across the room _because of course I left it in my pocket_. She rolls her eyes and walks over to dig it out.

“Right cause I was the one who ignored their friend for months, I’m so mean. You actually are set on starting a fight!” Wow, look at that there’s something very interesting stuck under my thumbnail.

“Are you sure they’re compatible?” I ask like we won’t immediately find out as she sets my phone on the pad.

“It’s a wireless charger not a metaphor for our relationship.” My phone chimes in the affirmative. The dumbest smile cracks on her face as she laughs at her own joke, touches the lamp off and finally climbs into the bed and next to me. It seems with the addition of the bedclothes suddenly we’re uncomfortable being this close to one another; both lying on our backs, completely still, staring at the ceiling. I’m a bit worried at this point, Ray was the one who said she needed a cuddle but it’s not like I don’t _also_ want a cuddle. “Jokes aside, I have a question.”

“I do too.”

“You first.”

“Am I wearing my own sweatpants?”

“Oh yeah, obviously. I think you left them here in like July. You’re lucky you finally came back, you probably would never have seen them again.”

“Fair enough. What’s your question?”

She props up onto her side. “When you cuddle, do you tend to stay safe with the casual waist-arm-drape or do you throw caution to the wind and go right for the big-spoon-breast-exam?”

“What an icebreaker.”

“And don’t lie to me with that ‘you would never’ shit because I know you.”

“Most often my genuine intent is the waist-drape but I swear he ends up somewhere he shouldn’t be nearly every time.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

“I’m realising now I could have aimed higher.”

“Yep!” She stretches out and shifts over, closing all but a fraction of the space between us. “But it means a lot that you didn’t regress to the hallway creep.”

“I _am_ sorry about that.”

“I know. You’re still forgiven.” She scoots a bit closer. “You really don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow?”

“I’m all yours all day.” I smile.

“That makes me so happy.” She smiles.

“I leave for Barbados Monday morning.”

“Well, you fuckin’ ruined it.” She flops onto her back and I can’t help bursting into laughter.

“No! I’m joking! I’m so sorry, I had to do it! Ray, come on, I’m sorry!”

 

Her best efforts to ignore my pleas with a stone face and crossed arms fly out the window when I change tactics and try an altogether more intimate approach. The self-serving ace up my sleeve. I’m not one to endorse or perpetuate generalisations and broad statements about people, truly. That being said I have yet to encounter one woman who can maintain high level thought processes, much less focus on being angry, while someone is kissing their neck. Someone being _me_ , I should clarify. My bright love is easy enough to bring back around and she lets me kiss her simply because she’s here. I almost hate that I’ve literally become a cliché, but at this point I might be too happy to care.

We’re just lying here. Staring at each other. Unabashedly. I don’t know what she’s thinking, I don’t think I need to. This is one of those moments that is so uncomfortable to watch as a third party but you absolutely luxuriate in as a participant. It transcends pride and self-consciousness. When you look into someone else’s eyes and feel nothing but a sense of ethereal calm warming the very core of you.

“All right big spoon, let’s make this happen.”

Everything falls away and leaves you as the clean, vulnerable canvas desperately longing to be painted upon. And love is the pigment. But it’s so difficult to let go, so easy to slip into the armour of defensive fear forged from the ills weathered on the journey to this moment. I don’t want this to be so perfect because there’s no way it can stay perfect forever.

“Jesus Christ how do you put out so much heat? I’m serious I’m not sure if this relationship can work, I’m going to roast like a damn duck under this duvet.”

But then again, it took ten years to get here, I can hold out hope a little longer.


End file.
